Straight Curves
by Nephora
Summary: Stephanie and Ian, a very um outspoken queer, were having an enlightening conversation about life, love and sex when out of nowhere Peter Pan pays them a surprise visit. some romance & drama in later chapters but funny for the most part CH. 7 up FINALLY!
1. ales for life

A/N: Okay, this fic is just something I thought of as I waited for the on-line college apps to load.  Life without DSL is torture!  Anyway, don't take this fic too seriously.  I would also like to dedicate this fanfiction to Jacob, my "buddy-roo," who doesn't give a darn about his sexuality being known (way too proud of it) and actually wanted me to "personify" him as a character (Ian) in one of my fics.  So here goes. . . 

_Extended_ A/N: Oh and um Peter doesn't appear in this fic for a while.  But bare with me, he'll be there in full force eventually, I promise.  So just enjoy the little interactions for now.  And please Read & Review, thanks!  =) 

Stephanie and Ian both sighed in relief as they finally clicked the "SUMMIT" button to send in their college applications.  With all that done, they can finally enjoy senior year with hardly any worries. 

Ian stretched his long arms over his blonde head and yawned his large mouth.  He spared a glance at his dear friend since pre-K and smiled lazily like a contented cat.  "Well, they're in.  You can stop being a study freak now."

Stephanie half-laughed. "Ha, I'm only a study freak because I have to be.  I'm not blessed with those naturally smart genes like _some _people are born with."  She sat back on her swivel chair and stared sternly at her companion.  "I don't get it.  You never finish your assignments, you show up late all the time, you never even study, and yet you manage to ace every damn class."

"You're just jealous," Ian scoffed playfully.

"And it's not only that," Stephanie continued.  "You never gain weight!  You eat like a pig, you don't play any sports, you watch cartoons all day.  You don't even move! 

"Hey, I move."  He leaned in closer to her and wiggled his eyebrows teasingly.  "I move my body very well when the occasion calls for it."

Stephanie shook her head, laughing.  She could always count on Ian as being the flirt with a sense of humor.   

"C'mon Steph, we could do the dirty deed before your parents come home."  Ian grinned.  "You know you want to."  He rolled his swivel chair closer to her.

"Thanks, but no thanks."  She gave him a funny look and pushed him back a bit.  "Besides I'm not your type."

"How are you not my type?!" exclaimed Ian.

"Well, for starters, I'm a girl."  She emphasized 'girl' as two syllables.

"So?  I'll turn bisexual.  I'm not a straight gay, you know"

"That's an oxymoron," Stephanie pointed out.  

"I don't care.  I'm fucking bored right now and I don't want to go anywhere.  Can't we just have sex?  _Pleeease._"  He gave her the oh-so-famous puppy face.  With his light blonde hair, pale blue eyes and pursed lips, he almost looked like a cute, harmless puppy.  _Yeah right_, thought Stephanie._  And Michael Jackson never laid a hand on that little boy.  _"I'll die of boredom if I don't do something soon."

"We could talk," suggested Stephanie_._

Ian blinked at her.  "Give me a porn mag.  I'll go jerk off in the bathroom."

"What?!  Hey, c'mon Ian."

"No seriously.  I got enough talk time with my ex to last me a lifetime.  God, he had more mood swings that all the girls I know combined.  All he ever talked about was his hair, his clothes, his makeup.  I swear he was like your stereotypical gay."  Ian pushed himself out of the chair and went to the refrigerator to grab two bottles of ginger ale.  He handed one to Stephanie and took a long sip from his own.  "One of the reasons I turned gay was to escape all that bitchiness that came along with girls."  Ian held up a hand before Stephanie could comment.  "Except you, Steph.  You're my friend, my homegirl, my–" 

"Buddy-roo," finished Stephanie, sipping her drink.  

"Exactly," said Ian.  "Sure you have your mood swings too, but they're nothing compared to all the other ho's and sluts out there.  It's not wonder all the cute guys are gay."  

Stephanie choked on her ginger ale.  

Ian laughed as he patted her back, and settled himself into the swivel chair.  He handed her a napkin to wipe her eyes and nose.  "So how's your love life, miss?"

"Non-existent.  Yours?"

"On vacation.  I hope to find true love when I get to college."  Stephanie raised an eyebrow at that.  "Or maybe just have lots of sex," amended Ian, grinning.  "Hey, you're still a virgin aren't ya?"  Her eyes widened.  "You'll be what, 18 in a few months.  You're gonna be an adult soon, like me."  Stephanie rolled her eyes.  "I just got one bit of advice for you: better to lose it to some high school sweetie than a college guy who would just dump your ass the morning after."  Stephanie gave him a bored look.  "I know it sounds cliche, but trust me.  I'm the youngest in a family with 4 gals and 3 guys.  I've seen shit like this happen."  He took another swig from his bottle.  "The last thing I wanna see is you fat with a bundle of joy in your belly."

"First off, I don't plan to have sex for a while, maybe not even till I'm married and have a job.  And second, I don't want to grow up.  Everything goes downhill when you do."

Ian frowned.  "That's very pessimistic of you.  Usually people turning 40 say that." 

Stephanie shrugged.  "Yeah, but I like being a kid."  She sighed sadly.  "I'm not nine years old anymore."

Ian's eyes roved over her body, lingering in certain areas just to tick Stephanie off.  He smiled approvingly.  "From what I see babe, that's not entirely a bad thing."  

Stephanie scowled and ruffled his perfectly combed hair, knowing it took him 20 minutes just to style it the way he wanted.  "Hey, not the hair!  Aw, Steph!"  She laughed at the several cow-licks he had sticking up.  "Ya know, for a high school senior, you sure act like a nine-year-old sometimes."

"And proud of it," stated Stephanie, sticking her tongue out.  Ian found himself doing the same in response and chuckled.

"You remind me so much of that kid who never grew up– what was his name?"

Stephanie opened her mouth to respond when suddenly a loud crash of glass breaking came from upstairs.  Both friends looked at each other.  

"What. . .the hell. . . was that?" asked Ian, spacing out the words.

"I don't know," muttered Stephanie.  Her brows furrowed in concern.  "Let's go check it out."

They bolted for the stairway up to the bedrooms.  "I think it came from your room."  Ian gestured to the second door on the right.  "It's directly above the kitchen."

Stephanie nodded.  "Open the door slowly."  

"Wait a minute.  How come I have to find out what's behind this door?  It's _your _room."

"Well, you're the guy," Stephanie reasoned.  "This macho shit is right up your alley."  Ian gave her a funny look.  "And you're braver than I am."  She gave him big brown hound dog eyes. 

Ian let out an exasperated breath.  "Fine, fine.  This is probably why going drag is so popular."  He turned the doorknob and carefully pushed the door open with Stephanie huddled behind him.


	2. fine encounter

A/N:  Wow!  I didn't even think I'd get reviews for this story.  Thank you so much, all of you, for reviewing.  I'd give you all cyber hugs.  And special thanks to WuffieLuver, Ophilia LeNoir, and H.  I really appreciate your comments and helpful criticisms.  Keep them coming.  I'm sorry I updated this story so late.  I've been busy with my Econ project of how legalizing prostitution makes good economic sense (long story of how I got assigned _that_ topic).  But with the upcoming holidays, new chapters will come up much faster, I promise.  So enough about me, enjoy the story!  Oh and review when you're done.  Thanks!  =)

A figure dressed in green leaves had his back turned to them and was adjusting his clothes.  He was about to sheath his arm-length sword when he heard the faint sound of glass crackling under someone's foot.  Drawing the sword once again, he whirled around and pointed the edge of the blade three-quarters of an inch from the base of a young man's throat.

"Holy shit!" Ian squeaked.  Breath coming in even pants, Ian raised his gaze from the sword to its owner.  His eyes widened.  

"Damn, he's fine!"  The blonde gave his attacker a thorough once over and smiled approvingly.  He spread his arms wide to imply surrender and licked his lips in anticipation.  "You don't by any chance have a black leather whip, do you?"  The figure only moved the blade closer to Ian's neck.  "Guess not," Ian hissed.  All teasing set aside, he glared at the intruder with a most unpleasant expression on his face.  "Look, we don't want any trouble.  So maybe you should just cool it with the sword, alright." 

"Ian. . ." started Stephanie. 

"No, it's okay Steph.  I got everything under control."  He looked at the intruder straight in the eye.  "Do what you want to me, but leave her alone."  Ian swallowed twice and felt the blade brush against his Adam's apple. 

While Ian performed his display of bravado, Stephanie stared, transfixed by the figure dressed in green.  His hair was a deep auburn with natural red and gold highlights from the sun.  It was ruffled and messy as if he had just come out of a windstorm.  He was clothed in forest leaves and green leggings, and wore dark brown leather boots, skillfully hand sewn at the edges.  A matching leather belt that held a small pouch and a sheath for his sword was strapped around his slender waist.  The figure looked young, Stephanie thought, probably around the same age as Ian.  It then occurred to her that this intruder who now held her friend captive was. . .Peter Pan!

"Ian, do you know who's standing right in front of you?" Stephanie asked in awe.  

He turned his head a little to glance at her, finding her question a bit odd considering the situation.

"Uh. . .no, not really Steph.  You'll have to enlighten me here," Ian said nervously.  The blade dug in closer to his neck.  

"That's Peter Pan!" Stephanie exclaimed.  At that mention of his name, Peter directed his attention to the girl.

Ian frowned.  "_Who_?!" 

Stephanie sighed.  "You know, Peter Pan?  The boy who never grew up?  Neverland?"

Ian made a quiet "Oh" with his mouth and brought his eyes back to the intruder, the supposed Peter Pan.  

"He doesn't look much like a 'boy' to me," Ian said cooly.

It was Peter's turn to frown.  "And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.  

"Oh, _now_ he talks!  When he gets insulted he talks."  Ian looked up at the ceiling as if her were talking to some greater being.  "Is this my punishment for not being a good Catholic?"

"Peter?"  Stephanie appeared cautiously beside him.  He instantly backed away from her, emerald green eyes darting all around the room.  "Peter, we won't hurt you."  She gave him a reassuring smile.  "You can put your sword away," she said gently.  "It's safe."

Peter turned his fiery green eyes back to Ian.  "What about him?"

"He won't harm you.  He was just 'protecting' me," said Stephanie with a sarcastic tone in her voice.  Ian simply smirked.

Settling his gaze on the girl's sincere expression, Peter felt a tension ease out of him.  Though reluctant, he finally withdrew his sword and safely secured it in its sheath.  

Ian sighed in immense relief and leaned his back against the wall, grateful that no blood was drawn from his neck that would have stained  his lucky shirt.  Breathing heavily, he shot a glance at Peter Pan.  Peter met his stare with a stern one of his own.  "I thought. . .you'd be a little kid about," he placed his hand up to his waist (Ian was roughly 6'2"), "this high."

Peter half-laughed.  "I haven't been that tall for a while."  His voice had a notable masculine edge to it.  Pushing long bangs back from his eyes, Peter looked around the room, and frowned.  "Where am I?"

"You're in my room," Stephanie simply replied.

Peter looked at her.  "I know _that_.  But do you mind telling me where your room is?"  He quickly held up a hand before Stephanie could open her mouth.  "And I don't mean your house."

Stephanie pursed her lips and made a short, high sound through her nose as if she had been insulted.  

Ian snickered and shook his head at Peter.  "You don't talk much to girls, do you?"  Peter frowned.  "Let me give you some advice.  Never activate the PMS switch.  'Cause once it gets going, it won't stop until she goes shopping and loses all her energy to bitch or has a pound of chocolates to pig out on."  He gave Peter a masculine pat on the shoulder.  "Trust me.  It's best to humor them." 

Wide eyes the color of steel brown and mouth gaping, Stephanie stared at her two companions in disbelief.  A disgusted sound escaped her curled lips as she looked from one _boy_ to the other.  

"Of all the pig-headed, stupid, dumb-ass comments I've ever heard, that was the absolute wor–"

"See, what did I tell you!" grinned Ian.  "She's already on the rampage."  Glancing Peter from sun streaked red hair to toned muscular calves, Ian allowed a suggestive smile to play across his lips.  Peter, entirely oblivious to Ian's subtle invitation, glanced down and examined himself.  Shrugging broad yet slender shoulders, he raised his gaze and met glassy blue eyes that would have made any angel jealous were it not for the mischievous gleam in them.  Peter involuntarily shuddered, finding the look in Ian's eyes unnerving.

"C'mon Peter, let's take a walk to the kitchen while Steph cools off," Ian suggested in his playful humor once again.  Peter blinked.  No reminiscence of that unnerving gleam lingered in those bright cornflower blue eyes, as if Peter simply imagined it.  

Scratching his head, he peered curiously at Ian, then finding nothing out of the ordinary, nodded his head and allowed this strange fellow to guide him to the door.                      

Ian tossed a patronizing smile over his shoulder at Stephanie, and clucked his tongue when she gave him an obscene gesture with her hand.  "You know better manners than that," Ian said in a poor imitation of an upper crust Englishman.  His smile widened as she narrowed her eyes; one hand clenched into a small fist at her side.  "When you can behave yourself, young lady, you can join us downstairs.  Until then," he made a gesture to the broken pieces of scattered glass behind her, "you can clean up your room."  And with that he regally made his way down the stairs.

"Lazy ass," muttered Stephanie.  Sighing, she turned around to take inventory of the mess only to find the floor immaculately clean, free of any shards of glass or wood framing.  Eyes wide and unbelieving, she knelt down on all fours and smoothed her hands over the dark wood.  Not a single debris of glass remained.  The floor was even polished, shimmering in the autumn light cast by the sunset.  The once demolished window now stood whole and perfect as if Peter had never crashed into it.  Coming to her feet, Stephanie ran a finger over the window's edge and horizontal crossings.  Her mouth gaped in amazement as she lifted her hand up to the dim light.  A pale finger emerged coated in glittering golden dust.


	3. bottoms up, seven up

A/N:  Well, here it is: Chapter 3.  Told you I'd update faster than before. Thank you once again for all those that reviewed (Seductive Gypsy, Flounder 2, Furiya Celine, & Boogalaga).  I greatly appreciate it.  I'm open to all criticisms and comments.  Oh, and please note that I am in no way promoting Smirnoff Ice in this chapter, it's just something that my friend so happens to drink (blame him not me).  Okay, now on with the story.  And review when you're done.  Thank you!    

"Okay, let's see what we got."  Ian's muffled voice came from the refrigerator.  His blonde head was hidden by a bulbous white door, leaving a shapely posterior clad in jeans as the only visible part of his body.  "There's orange juice, apple juice, milk– correction, _expired_ milk– um some neon blue sports drink, diet soda– oh yuck, can't believe Steph actually drinks that stuff– hmm. . .God, I swear I saw like three bottles of– ah ha!  Found 'em."  He pulled out three frosted white bottles of Smirnoff Ice.  "Knew they were in there.  Here Peter, have a drink."  He handed the bright-eyed redhead the cold libation.  

Peter stared suspiciously at the offered bottle.  Cautiously, he extended his left hand and clasped strong fingers around it.  He looked up at Ian, eyes like a curious little boy, as if asking 'now what?'

Ian twisted the cap off with his bare hand and swallowed a good third of the bottle before motioning for Peter to do the same.  "Go ahead.  It's not going to kill ya."

Settling his attention back to the bottle, Peter twisted the cap with the same swift motion as Ian had done.  He exhaled and was about to pour the bottle's contents into his mouth when Stephanie sprinted into the kitchen, arms flailing, and shouted, "STOP!  Don't drink it!"

She came to a fast stop in front of the two boys, breath coming in strong pants, and threw Ian a death glance.  "Just what the hell do you think you're doing!"

"What?" replied Ian innocently.  He took another long pull from his bottle.  "I was just giving our guest something to drink.  He's probably thirsty, y'know."

"You can't give him alcohol!" exclaimed Stephanie.

"Why not?"

"Because it's illegal.  _You're_ not even suppose to drink!"  Her face was flushed bright pink.

"Hey, kids in Europe drink wine when they're thirteen.  I'm more than qualified to drink this mild shit."  He finished off the bottle in one last gulp and tossed it into the blue recycling bin by the door.  

"Don't put it there!  My dad's going to kill me if he finds out you've been drinking."

"I'll get rid of it later."  He looked at Peter and nudged his head encouragingly.  "It's not bad, taste kinda like Sprite."

Stephanie snatched the bottle from Peter and placed it firmly on the table.  "You cannot give him this.  It's just. . . wrong."

"How?  It's not like I'm giving him hardcore whiskey."  Ian picked the bottle off the table and shoved it back into Peter's hand.  "He'll be fine."

"Y–You're missing the point.  Peter Pan is suppose to be a child's symbol. . .like Santa Claus or Big Bird.  You don't just give liquor to these guys; that's tarnishing their image.  Besides, Peter never even drank before."  

"Actually," interrupted Peter, "I did sneak a few sips of rum once when I raided Hook's ship."  Stephanie threw him a deadly glare that almost made him wish he had kept his mouth shut.

"See, if he can take rum, he can definitely handle 7up plus."  Ian turned his attention away from a mumbling Stephanie to a confused Peter.  "Bottoms-up."

Peter looked from one person to the other.  The girl shook her head slowly back and forth while the blue-eyed blonde smiled, edging him on to devour the white contents of the bottle.  Unsure of their intentions, he handed the cold bottle to the girl.

Stephanie raised a dark eyebrow.  "Why are you giving it to me?"

"I don't trust him."  He tilted his head towards Ian, who, in response, rolled his eyes.  "But I'll drink whatever is in this bottle if you will."

"I'm not going to drink that," Stephanie spat.  "Besides, I don't even like liquor drinks."

"What's the matter, Steph?  Afraid you can't handle a little sip of firewater?"  Ian waved the other bottle of Smirnoff Ice in front of her.  "Or are you daddy's good little girl?"  He smoothed the cold bottle over his neck sensuously, slowly licking his lips as he kept his baby-blues on Stephanie's narrowed brown eyes.  "C'mon, I dare you to chug down half the bottle in one nonstop motion, like those coke commercials.  What do you say, miss?  Too chicken, too much of a _girl _to do it?"

Stephanie closed the distance between them, and with the speed of a hawk, snatched the still cold bottle out of Ian's hand and shoved it down the front of his jeans.  She forced it down so deep that he gasped and nearly keeled over from the burning cold.  A malicious smile played across her lips.  "You're on, mister."

"Damn, girl!  You can't even take a fucking jo– Oh God. . ."  Ian tried to shift the bottle off to the side, but managed only to turn the bottle into a horizontal position, making the freezing sensation even worse.  

Several cuss words erupted from his shivering lips, some of which made Peter blush as he had only heard such foul sayings on the pirates' ship, but never in front of a lady.  He glanced over at Stephanie, and found, to his surprise, a girl laughing wildly on the floor with tears lining her cheerful face.  Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned his attention over to the jumping blonde with a hand probing inside the front his pants.  Peter began to laugh at Ian's ridiculous display, and soon joined Stephanie on the floor.

Finally able to keep still, Ian braced himself against the wall and gingerly unzipped his fly.  He let out several groans and grunts that sounded almost orgasmic as he carefully pulled the bottle out the front opening.  A sigh of relief escaped his lips while he stood, head bowed, for what seemed like hours.  Stephanie and Peter could still be heard laughing, one remained on the floor clutching her stomach while the other floated three feet off the ground and kicked at the ceiling.  Ian turned his head abruptly and cast Stephanie a very unfriendly look.  She stopped her laughing and sat up, though laughter still glittered her brown eyes.  Peter ceased his laughter as well, but snickered every now and then as Ian stumbled awkwardly towards them.  

Ian roughly handed Stephanie the now warm bottle and said through gritted teeth, "You're turn."

She absently pushed the bottle aside and smiled up at him.  "I don't think that bottle is cold anymore.  Seems like you two got along very well.  It's probably just _burning_ with heat."

  


Ian snorted.  "You'll be burning with heat once you drink half a bottle nonstop."  He set the bottle on the table, then, gripping the back of a chair for balance, shook his head at Stephanie.  "Brutal, very brutal, can't believe you actually threw Ice down my pants.  Did you not take your Midol pill today or something?"

"Oh c'mon, it couldn't have been that bad," reasoned Stephanie.  "It's not like I shoved it down your boxers."

"Who said I'm wearing boxers?" Ian tossed back.

Stephanie raised both eyebrows.  "Oh God, please don't tell me you're wearing a thong."

"What's a thong?" asked Peter suddenly.

"It's a– _umph_."  Stephanie clamped a hand over Ian's big mouth.

"I'll tell you later, Peter."  She smiled reassuringly, but out of the corner of her eye, she shot Ian a don't-you-dare-tell-him look.

Ian rolled his eyes to the ceiling and nodded lazily, making a girl's scout sign with his free hand.  

She moved her hand away from his mouth, but not before he French-kissed her palm and licked his lips.  She made a disgusted sound.  

"You act like such a dog."  Stephanie quickly grabbed a napkin and began scrubbing her wet palm.  She sighed and shook her head smiling when Ian growled near her neck and panted just like a golden retriever.  "Okay, okay, stop.  I mean it.  Stop Ian." 

"Aw, c'mon Steph.  You know it turns you on."  

"No, it doesn't.  And neither does the fact that you're wearing a tho– um. . .a you-know-what," corrected Stephanie.

"Ah, see that's where you're wrong.  I'm not wearing any kind of you-know-what."  Ian lowered his voice for dramatic effect.  "I'm free-balling it, babe."

"What?!"  Stephanie nearly knocked over the chair Peter was perched on.  "Eew, yuck, oh gross!  Did you have to tell me that?  I _so_ did not want to know."

Peter chose this time to chime in.  "By the way," both Ian and Stephanie turned towards him simultaneously, "your trousers are undone."  He made a subtle gesture with his hand to Ian's open zipper.  Stephanie gasped and shielded her eyes, not wanting to further ruin her eyesight.  

Ian simply shrugged and looked up to meet Peter's emerald eyes.  The same suggestive smile played across his lips again.  Never taking his gaze off Peter, Ian slowly pulled up his fly, swaying his hips slightly.  Peter frowned and shifted uncomfortably in the air.  He found Ian to be a very strange boy, maybe too strange.

"I'm gonna take a leak," Ian announced in his playful voice once again.  Peter blinked at the abrupt change.  "And when I get back, you two," he waved two fingers at both the red-head and the brunette, "are going to finish off that Smirnoff Ice in two _long_ drinks."  And with that, he limped and waddled his way to the bathroom.

(A/N:  Wahoo!  Happy Holidays Everyone!)


	4. a gentleman's concoction

A/N: God bless you WuffieLuver and Boogalaga, you're the best, thank you so much for reviewing again, and I promise I'll eventually bring them to Neverland.  Chapter 4 is up.  And I apologize for getting carried away on the last chapter with some. . .controversial and "ew" material that may have offended some people and discouraged them from further reading my story.  I did not mean to veer off into _pervert land _and gross everyone out.  So in the future, I'll try to tone down the wierdness in my story and maybe raise the rating due to content and language.

With all that said, I'd like to thank those that reviewed the latest chapter of my story: Tazmainian Devil, Angel285, Boogalaga, and steph.  Keep your comments coming.  

And I even like to thank Lolly_Chat and Yuki Asao.  Though not entirely heart-warming, or helpful reviews for that matter, I still appreciate them because they show that someone took the time to read and bash my story.  And I'm still open to receive comments and _helpful_ criticisms from readers. 

I apologize that this author's note is so long, but I felt the need to explain the direction of this story.  And it's _not hardcore_ SLASH, if that's what you're all wondering (though there are suggestions here and there).  Sorry to disappoint or exhilarate you to sing the Hallelujah.  I, personally, have nothing against slash, but I have to be wary of my audience, be they rednecks or liberals or variations of the two.  And plus it's a Peter Pan story, so best not to um. . .change Peter's current image.  So without further delay, here is chapter 4.  And please review when you're done.  Thank you.  =)                  

Stephanie turned her head to Peter.  He sat in the air with his legs crossed and a hand under his chin as if contemplating something complex and difficult.

"Does he always act like that?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Who, Ian?"  Stephanie placed her own hand under her chin.  "Hmm, I guess so.  Why do you ask?"

"No reason.  He's just. . .unusual."  Peter's voice sounded hollow.  He seemed to be unaware of his words as though he were in some far off place away from reality.  A certain wisdom that only comes with age radiated from him.  He was nothing at all like the very childlike Peter Pan Stephanie had imagined.  

"He wasn't always like this," Peter said suddenly.  "He was very different when he was little."

Stephanie looked up at him curiously.  "How so?"  She leaned forward slightly in her chair.

"Much more quiet and unsure.  Nothing like he is now."

Stephanie smiled at that and nodded in agreement.  "Ian was very shy throughout grade school.  Then, one day— poof!— instant self-confidence and big ego."  Her brows furrowed as she turned her attention back to the floating boy.  "How did you know that?"

Peter gave her a shrug that could have meant anything and nothing.  "I just know."  He gazed down at her, green eyes twinkling, and smiled.  "You going to tell me what a thong is now?"

"Um. . .uh. . ."  She bit her lower lip, searching for euphemisms to describe the provocative strip of clothing.  "It's a. . .well,. . ."  

"Oh for crying out loud, just tell him Steph!"  Ian's voice boomed from the hallway the same time the toilet flushed with a familiar gurgle.  He emerged in the kitchen doorway with a steaming towel draped over one shoulder.  "If he's brave enough to wear tights in public, he's brave enough to know what a goddamn thong is."  Ian slowly lowered himself to a chair and shifted the warm towel onto his lap over the crotch of jeans.  He sighed like a contented cat basking in afterglow.

"Do you have to sound like you just came out of a masturbating session?" whined Stephanie.  Ian just looked at her.  "It's getting on my nerves."

"Well, who told you to drop a freezing bottle down my pants!"

Stephanie focused her steel gaze on Ian.  " I wouldn't have dropped it if you had kept your mouth shut.  Don't blame me for you going au natural.  Just hope nothing's shafting down there against the zipper.  It's one of the reasons why they created underwear, y'know."  

"Yeah, yeah, I know.  I just ran out of clean drawers this week."  He ran a hand through his ruffled blonde hair, then remembering something, directed his gaze to the bewildered floating boy and the uptight girl.  "Alright you two, payback time."  He reached for the warm bottle that had journeyed down his pants only to have Stephanie pull his arm to a dead stop.  

"Unh-uh.  There is no way I am drinking that bottle, especially after where it's been."  Ian grinned and looked from Stephanie's arm to her serious face.

"You want me bad, don't you?"

Stephanie scowled and released his arm.  "You're impossible to be around."  

He shrugged.  "Maybe.  But you still owe me half a Smirnoff Ice."  Ian scanned the kitchen table, and settling his gaze on the opened bottle of Smirnoff Ice that Peter hadn't even sipped yet, he reached over to the far end of the table, grabbed the cool bottle, and planted it in front of Stephanie.  He then pulled a black Sharpie marker from the soup can full of writing tools on the table and marked the bottle three-quarters of the way down.  

"There," Ian said proudly.  "You'll drink this half."  He ran a finger up and down the bigger portion of the bottle.  "And Peter will drink the other half."  He pointed to the little stub of liquor below the black line.

"That is so not half!" argued Stephanie.  "You're giving me at least 75% of the bottle."

"N_o_, I'm giving you half.  The top part of the bottle is narrow and doesn't have much.  It'd be very unfair of me to mark the bottle so that it _looks_ like half because then Peter over there would end up drinking more than you."  He handed the marked bottle to Stephanie.  "Trust me, it's more or less equal." 

Stephanie smirked.  "Yeah, sure."  Sighing, she slowly clasped both hands around the offered bottle and sniffed the rim.  

Her lips curled in disgust.

"Oh, foul."  She waved a hand over the bottle.  "This stuff reeks."

Ian crossed broad arms over his chest.  "No, it doesn't.  Stop stalling and drink it."  

Throughout this time, Peter kept a watchful eye on both his new companions.  The girl looked distressed and defeated while she stared down the barrel of the bottle.  The peculiar blonde, on the other hand, had a motionless expression on his face, one most fathers gave their children when they were being difficult.  

Peter felt a twinge of pity for the girl.  In his own mind, he knew liquor was a vile drink.  Even the taste of rum from the pirate ship was not something he would like to experience again.  Though he did enjoy the drinking, the aftermath of a throbbing headache and discontent stomach was not pleasant at all.  Liquor was an acquired taste that took several servings to finally enjoy.  Still. . .a girl so small should not drink so much.  He doubted her poor stomach could even hold down the drink for the first hour, or worse yet, if she became horribly drunk. . . 

He watched, solemn faced, as she tilted the bottle to her parted lips.  Her eyes squeezed shut and her throat worked convulsingly to swallow the burning liquid.  After two struggling brief swallows, Peter snatched the nearly full bottle out of her hands and vigorously poured the contents down his own throat.  His Adam's apple bobbed with each long pull, while he braced himself with one hand on the table.  

The last swirl of frosted liquor drained from the bottle into his mouth.  

Peter tossed the empty bottle into the blue bin with it's previous twin.  He gagged for the first few seconds as oxygen filled his aching lungs.  Eyes blinking, he quickly settled himself into a chair as the room blurred some then focused again.  

Stephanie and Ian stared jaw down and wide-eyed.

"_Daamn_!"  Ian shook his head in amazement as a wide grin swept across his face.  "You drank the whole fucking bottle."

Peter smiled shyly.  "Stephanie drank some too."  He placed a hand tentatively over his rumbling stomach.  "Don't give me all the credit," he said in strained voice as his stomach lurched.

"Like hell.  She drank— like what— one sip."  He got up and padded Peter on the back like a proud father.  "Even I couldn't finish off Ice like that.  Well done, my friend."

Stephanie kept staring at Peter.  He mouth still hung open, wide enough to catch incoming flies.  "Wha— how— why did you do that?"

Peter shrugged indifferently, but his smile brightened.  "I thought you use some help.  A lady shouldn't have to do anything she doesn't want to."  He belched while his stomach did another lurch.  "Sorry," he muttered, swallowing.  

"Thank you, Peter.  That was very. . ."  She waved her hand as if searching for an appropriate term.  ". . .gentlemanly of you, unlike _some _people."  She cast Ian an accusing glare.  He raised both his hands and mouthed the word 'what?'  Sighing, she turned her attention back to Peter, whose face was scrunched in discomfort.  "Are you all right, Peter?"

"I'm fine.  My stomach just feels. . .funny—"  As though on cue, he stomach lurched violently, propelling him out of his seat and across the table.  He groaned in pain as he laid sprawled in mid-air, hands wrapped protectively over his aching abdomen. 

"Yeow, that's gotta hurt," commented Ian. 

"Peter?"  Stephanie barely touched his shoulder before his body fell to the floor with a loud thump.  "Oh my god."  She knelt on the linoleum floor and felt his forehead.  He writhed a bit with his eyes closed, but thankfully, was still conscious.  Over her shoulder, Stephanie threw Ian a loathing look.  

"This is all your fault," she spat.  "Why d'you have to make that stupid bet?"

Ian raised an eyebrow.  "Okay, first of all miss, you took me up on the bet and did the mature thing of dumping a cold bottle on my d— "  He stopped when Stephanie turned pale for fear of his next words.  "— down my pants," he amended.  "Second, no one forced Mr. Pan to drink the whole bottle.  If he wants to be this heroic knight and save the damsel in distress, not my problem.  However," Ian's voice carried over Stephanie's small protest.  "I am sorry for 'provoking' you into the bet and all the other trouble."  His expression was sincere when he held out a hand to her.  "I may be gay, Steph, but I still have my guy moments now and then."  He flashed her a disarming smile that use to make girls swoon once upon a time.  "What do you say?  Am I forgiven?" 

Stephanie shook her head, smiling.  _Ian could be an obnoxious jerk sometimes_, she thought,_ but at least he knew when he'd crossed the line._  "You're forgiven."  She took the offered hand and pulled herself up.  

Ian pulled her into the circle of his body, and wrapped his arms around her waist, trapping her.  She gave him a funny look.

Ian grinned from ear to ear.  "You want me _real_ bad, don't you?"  She looked at Ian like he'd sprouted five heads.   "Admit it, Steph.  No shame in it."  She squirmed, trying to get away from her friend gone loony tunes.  "Ooh, that felt _nice_.  Could you do that again?"  His eyes gleamed playfully.

Stephanie gave an exasperated sigh and just looked at him.  "You plan on letting me go any time soon?"

"No."  He tightened his hold.  "But I do plan on taking you upstairs."  His lips curved into a mischievous smile.  

She blinked.  "You're kidding, right?"

"What do you think?"  He moved his hand a fraction of an inch lower.

Peter groaned as he twisted and turned on the ground, still clutching his throbbing stomach.

Ian groaned at being disturbed.   

Stephanie tilted her head to the side, waiting to be set free.  The perfect picture of patience.  "We have to help him, Ian."  She patted him on the arm.  "He's just going to keep making those noises if he stays there."

"Fine, fine," Ian scowled, and unwound his arms.  He bent down to get a better look at the struggling boy.  "I'm guessing he drank on an empty stomach.  His body's trying to make him puke it all out."  He shrugged.  "Well, at least he won't get drunk right away."  

Stephanie stared at him in horror.  "Ian!"

"What?  It's the truth."

"But what are we going to do?  I don't want him to throw-up in the kitchen."

"No problem.  I'll prop him up in front of the toilet."

"That's not what I meant!"  Stephanie closed her eyes and counted to ten, waiting for tranquility to take over.  She opened her eyes when Peter fell to the floor again with another thump.  "I don't want him sick _or_ drunk."

"Tough choices, babe."  Ian leaned his back against the refrigerator, brows furrowed.  

"Couldn't we just give him coffee and bread?" suggested Stephanie.

"That's for hangovers."  He took a quick inventory of the kitchen, his eyes settling on the olive oil and spice rack.  A smile that would have made Frankenstein proud slid across his face.   "You have any raw eggs in the fridge?"    

"What?  Oh, um, yeah, sure. . ."  She frowned confusedly.  "Why do you need raw eggs?"

"You'll see."  He turned and grabbed three good-sized eggs from the refrigerator.  Stalking towards the spice rack, he pulled out various containers at random: three faded red ones, two pasty-looking beige ones, some brown jars, and one container the color of puke-green.  He then lifted the olive oil off the counter along with a box of Lipton tea bags, Chinese herbal Pu-erh tea bags, an unopened jar of spaghetti sauce, a couple of McDonald sugar packets, and a big bag of potato chips.

Stephanie, shaking her head, watched Ian settle all the ingredients for his concoction on the kitchen table.  In all the years she'd known him, she was beginning to wonder if he had finally lost his mind.         

"What in the world are you doing?"

Ian relocated the blender from under the counter to the table, and cracked the three eggs with a fluid motion of one hand.  "Making something that'll counteract the effects of alcohol and soothe Peter's tummy like Malanta."  He poured in the olive oil.

"B–But with all this stuff?" she stuttered.  "You might give him diarrhea."

Ian snorted and scooped in the spaghetti sauce.  "Nah, won't happen.  This is design for quick revival.  Hardly any side-effects."  He dumped the dry ingredients into a separate bowl and mixed the powders together until they became a putrid color.  "Besides I got this recipe from Fred—you know Fred, don't you?"

"The perverted chem guy with a scholarship to Harvard?"

"Yeah, that's him.  Anyway, we were at this party where my ex got drunk as hell on an empty stomach.  I was going to carry him to the bathroom when Fred came around and offered to help me out.  But for a price."  He ripped open several tea bags and stirred in the grounded dry leaves.  "Fred said he knew how to sober him up so that—well, let's just say so that I wouldn't end up sleeping alone that night."  

Stephanie rolled her eyes.  "Go on."

"Anywho, in return for his 'antidote' I had to fix Fred up with Jennifer Wu."

"Jennifer Wu?!"  Stephanie nearly lost her balance.  "You gave Fred a date with quiet, innocent, sweet Jennifer Wu!  The minister's daughter!  The girl's parents wouldn't even let her watch the Miracle of Life videos the instructor showed in Health Ed.  She even thinks 'sex' is a swear word.  Are you crazy?"

"Maybe."  Ian shrugged.  "Then again, maybe it was a good learning experience for her.  I heard Fred has a tongue like a lizard."  He winked at Stephanie to convey his point.

Stephanie nearly gagged.  "That is so gross."  

"Yeah, poor Jennifer.  Fred had a tendency to bite too."  He said that casually as he pulled a handful of potato chips from the bag and loudly crunched them in his big mouth.  

Stephanie shivered from bad images that somehow seep into her mind.  _Thanks a lot _Ian_. _

He switched the blender on and generously poured in the dry contents from the bowl.  His voice rose above the roar of the motor.  "So yeah, Fred told me that it was possible to overpower a depressant drug, like alcohol, with a stimulant drug, like sweets or caffeine—that's the tea bags.  Chinese tea is loaded with it."  He paused to add in the sugar packets and continued blending.  "There's a whole bunch of other complicated chemical reaction shit that I don't get, but the rest of the stuff is suppose to act like a catalyst and speed up the whole process, and make the thing at least half-way drinkable."  

After another shuddering spin, the concoction was ready. 

Ian lifted the lid and examined the thick, slimy brown excuse for a smoothie.  He dipped a finger in the disgusting solution and slipped it into his mouth.  He wrinkled his nose, and in a hoarse voice said.  "Oh yeah, it's ready."  Stephanie quickly handed him a water glass and backed away towards Peter.  "Thanks."  The kitchen suddenly had the strange sweet smell of yesterday's garbage.

"You sure it's safe for him to drink that?"  Stephanie knelt down and propped Peter up on her knees; slender arms protectively balanced him.

"Positive," Ian coughed, and the stench of garbage got worse.  "But I'm not so sure about his breath later."  He sniffed the air.  "Peew, God it stinks!  Is that me?"  Stephanie nodded.  "Shit."  He handed her the glass full of brown slime.  "Here, you do the honors.  I gotta gargle with Listerine."  And he slipped into the bathroom, once again leaving Stephanie to clean up the mess.  She sighed.  "Lazy-ass."                        

(A/N:  This chapter was bit long, and completely irrelevant to the plot, but for some unexplainable reason or other I felt the need for it to be here.  I must be going through writer's block season or something.  If the story is better without this chapter, let me know and I'll do a rewrite.  And anything else helpful would be great.  Thanks.)  


	5. whipped cream

A/N: Apologies, apologies to all.  I know, it took me so _darn _long to update this time.  I have many good excuses, but I doubt you would want to hear them.  And special apologies to boogalaga (who is now a signed in reviewer—Woohoo!) and DarkJadedEyes.  I'll try a lot harder to update on a regular basis.  And I've also noticed that I got booted back to like story number 170 during the past month, which is pretty fast.  Guess people have all the time in the world to update _their_ stories.  Anyway, I'm _dreadfully _sorry for my _inept_ ability to update.  

I'd like to thank all of those who reviewed.  I never dreamed that _my _story would even reach past 20 reviews.  But as long as they keep coming, I'll keep writing.  So enough self-praise, on with the fanfiction.  Oh and please review when you're done. Thanks!

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Holding her breath, Stephanie lowered the glass to Peter's slightly parted lips and exuded a thin stream of Ian's grotesque concoction into his mouth.  She coaxed his throat to make him swallow and hoped to whatever merciful being in heaven that he wouldn't regurgitate the dreadful drink all over himself . . . and the recently mopped kitchen floor.

After a few timid swallows, Peter began to move his throat on his own.  Though his eyes remained closed, he vigorously devoured each sip as if his life depended on it.  Stephanie didn't believe anyone could even tolerate standing within three feet of the slime, let alone gulp it down like mother's milk.  A peculiar feeling of maternal peace washed over her.  She looked down at Peter Pan in her arms; so vulnerable, so ignorant of worldliness, so . . . very much like a child.  She felt somehow responsible for his well-being, as though it was her very purpose in life to care for him, to tell him stories, and mend pockets . . .

Stephanie frowned.  _Where did that come from?_  She stared back down at the half-conscious Peter, and drew her brows in deeper.  He looked like a regular guy again, though somewhat angelic in expression.  She didn't feel motherly at all now, just confused.  One minute she wanted to tuck him into bed with a teddy bear, and the next she wanted him to finish the gross drink so she could get up off the floor.  _Weird._  She wondered if that's how Wendy and the others felt.  But she was brought out of her reprieve when Ian suddenly ran out of the bathroom door and screamed in a squeaky, high-pitched voice that not only bolted Peter upright and awake, but caused Stephanie to spill the half-full glass of slime across his leaf-covered chest and the kitchen floor.

"SPIDER!  A big, _fucking _spider!"  Ian's breath came in pants as he pointed to some great horror in the bathroom.     

Peter wrinkled his noise and curled his lips at the foul smell.  He scrubbed a hand over his chest in an attempt to wipe the nasty slime off his shirt.  He only managed to smear it.

Stephanie stared aghast at the mess on the floor, seeing but not truly believing.  She looked at Peter and his futile efforts to remove the glutinous slime.  Her mouth tried to form words, but only stunned speechlessness came from her lips . . . until she saw Ian.

"Ian, you mean to tell me that you ran out of the bathroom like judgment day was coming all because of . . ."  She paused to intake a long breath.  _Okay, calm yourself Stephanie.  One, two . . ._ "A SPIDER?!  You screamed like that because of a goddamn spider?!"   

"It's huge Steph!  I swear it's got like ten legs or something."  She glared at him.  "It was going to bite me!"  Something diverted his attention back to the bathroom.  "Holy shit, it's moving!"  He sprinted to the refuge of the refrigerator door.

Stomping her way to the bathroom, Stephanie removed her shoe and was just about to squash the "huge" spider when she realized it was a daddy longlegs.  Scowling, she set the spider free out the window into the backyard, and stomped back to the kitchen with every intention to unleash her wrath on a certain old friend.  

"What the hell is the matter with you?!"  Her nostrils flared with each heated breath.  "You ran away from a harmless, little daddy longlegs?!"

"Hey, that thing was not harmless.  It's got those creepy crawly—"  Ian shuddered.  "It's just not right."  Shaky arms crossed his chest like a shield as he shook his head.   "I hate spiders."

Stephanie smacked a hand to her forehead and let out an aggravated groan.  What was she going to do with Ian?  No, what was she going to do about the awful mess on the floor . . . and Peter.

"Okay, one of us has to clean up this slop," she said firmly.  "And the other has to get Peter a change of clothes."  She pinched her nose.  "And maybe a bath too."

Ian eyes sparkled with their mischievous gleam once again.  Obviously, not a good sign, thought Stephanie.  "And you're not doing anything more than handing him the clothes and showing him where the upstairs shower is, Ian."  Apparently, he was so enraptured in his own thoughts that he didn't hear a word Stephanie said.  "_Ian_!"

"W-What?"  His head snapped back into attention.  "Sorry, what did ya say, Steph?"  He pushed his hair back, giving him the darling image of a good school boy at St. Francis Preparatory.  Stephanie sighed.  

"I said that you can help Peter.  _But_," she stood in front of him this time to make sure he heard her loud and clear.  "_No_ freaky stuff.  You keep your hands off him. . ._and _your eyes."

"C'mon Steph, you know me, when have I ever peeked in on anyone in the shower."  She remained silent.  She couldn't remember any peeping tom moments from Ian.  "Exactly.  Never.  Now if you'll excuse me," he pushed past her to the frowning boy on the floor, "I have to show Peter the washroom."  

One arm extended, he pulled Peter to his feet and dragged him towards the stairway.  Peter, rumpled and bewildered, swayed by the first step as Ian looked over his shoulder at Stephanie.  A disturbing, almost lascivious, smile graced his face. 

"By the way Steph," his eyes glittering like the devil on steroids, "do you always shave your legs in the shower with one leg bent up against the wall?  Didn't know youcould balance like _that_."

"_What_?!  How did—Oh you are so—Mmffff!"  A strange muffled gurgle came from Stephanie as she buried her flushed face in her hands.  Not only was the comment embarrassing and inappropriate, but it was true.  She peeked through her fingers to find something large and painful to throw at Ian.  But just then, an overpowering bell chime interrupted her search.

"What was that?"

"I believe it was the doorbell, miss."  It couldn't be humanly possible, but Ian's smile grew wider.  "Maybe one of us should answer it."  He stayed silent and studied his fingernails.  Peter frowned and looked from Ian to Stephanie, who seemed to have a steady wave of steam coming from her head.  Another round of musical chimes came from the door.  No one moved from the kitchen. 

Stephanie scowled.  "Fine, fine.  _I'll _get it."  She stomped her way through the living room to the foyer with Ian and poor Peter on her heels.  She had every intention of yelling at the unfortunate person, who now rang the bell an insistent third time.

Ian snickered all the way through, his smile evolving into a broad grin when Stephanie was about to open the door without knowing who the person on the other side was first.  He spoke, "Shouldn't you see who it is?  It might be some crazy rapist out to kill you."  Stephanie gave him a "yeah right" look.  "Or Mrs. Brussels, the cat lady next door," he amended.  "Then again, you never know.  Best to play it safe." 

Mumbling, Stephanie looked through the peephole.  Her eyes widened in alarm.  It wasn't a serial rapist who stood behind the door, or Mrs. Brussels for that matter.  It was someone far, far worse.  

A slim, trim, beautiful five-foot-nine girl with Christmas tree green eyes and pouty red lips flipped her sleek, salon-styled hazelnut hair over one shoulder as she waited impatiently behind the door.  Her Abercrombie and Fitch body was shoved into a pair of butt-hugging low-rise jeans and a tight white tee that bared to the world a good three-inches of her stomach.  A dark beige corduroy jacket with brass buttons topped the whole ensemble.  Her flawless skin (probably a very undetectable foundation was applied) was tanned to a light mocha, and her perfect feet with their perfect $100 pedicure were clad in strappy straw sandals.  

When Stephanie made no move to answer the door, Ian lifted a questioning eyebrow.  "Who is it?"  

She found it a struggle to pull her gaze away from the prom queen nominee at Powell High.  Ian frowned at the look of surprised horror on Stephanie's face.  "What's wrong?  You look like you just watched _The Ring_ for the first time."  When she only blinked in response, he voiced hardened in concern.  "Don't tell me that there's actually some guy waving his wang out there with a gun?"

"No, it's worse."  Her voice sounded far away.  "It's . . . Joanne Boer."

Ian's eyes bulged out of his head.  "Joanne, Joanne _Boer_?  The Student Body Council president?  The girl who's got whipped cream for brains?  The greatest slut ever to travel this side of the west coast?"  Stephanie nodded solemnly.  "_Shit_, what the hell is that bitch doing here?"  Stephanie gave him a warning glance and inclined her head towards Peter.  "Yeah, yeah, I know.  Keep the profanity to a minimum."  He crossed his arms over his chest as the doorbell rang a fourth, fifth, and sixth time.  "Do you think she'll just go away?"  A loud thump that sounded much like a kick came from the other side of the door.

"Probably not," admitted Stephanie.  She took one step back from the door.  "I think she knows we're here."

"Damn it."  Ian sighed, a look of dread washed over him.  "Well, if she has to come in, then we'd better be ready."  And with that, he turned Peter towards the stairway and proceeded to climb.

"Hey!  Where are you going?  Are you just going to leave me here with _her_?"

Ian motioned to Peter as though that was the answer.  Stephanie frowned.  "Do you see the way this guy looks?  Joanne _Ho_er will be all over him like vinegar on chips."  When Stephanie still frowned, Ian rolled his eyes and clarified.  "He's wearing _tights_, Steph.  _Tights_.  If Boer is anything like she was in freshmen year, Robin Hood here won't stand a chance."  

Stephanie shook her head, this was perhaps the stupidest argument she had ever heard.  Joanne wasn't guy-crazy, at least as far as Stephanie knew.  She'd talked to Joanne only once in her four years at Powell High, even though it was only for a sophomore class project.  Unfortunately, the whole experience was awful because Joanne was a snob and basically dead weight.  But she didn't have a fetish for attractive guys.  The way Ian talked about Joanne made her sound like a . . . well, like a 'ho. 

"Besides," Ian continued, "not only does he need a shower, but we gotta hide him.  Or at least make him look like such a slob that Boer will bypass him."  The thumping and chiming grew to a simultaneous explosion.  Peter covered his sore ears and took his own initiative to climb the few steps up the stairs.  "See, there he goes.  I'll show him where the shower is and you entertain our uh guest."  Stephanie looked panicked.  "Don't worry," Ian called from halfway up the stairs.  I'll come back down and help you as soon as I can."

"B-but . . . wha—how, de—" Stephanie stammered, but Ian was already gone.  

Taking a deep breath and silently humming "I Whistle a Happy Tune" from the _King and I_, Stephanie steeled herself and opened the door for the one and only Joanne Boer. 


	6. faint hazel

A/N: In the words of my friend, "_Ai Yah_!" I know, I know, UPDATING has been extremely slow this time. I apologize for the inconvenience and my slowness. Apparently, applying to college is a year long process. It doesn't just end after you click the SUMMIT button. I had to send in my SIR and housing fee and all that good stuff. And of course, like Ian, I'm a lazy ass, but have no fear, I am gradually reforming my ways. Anywho, back to the story issue. I am so very, extremely, truly sorry for not updating sooner. I cannot stress that enough. And big thanks to all of you that reviewed (you make writing worthwhile), and thanks especially to those who still kept reviewing even though I didn't update for, literally, months. This chapter doesn't have Peter in it, BUT no worries, he will definitely play a major part in the next chapter with the whole Joanne thing. This chapter is basically here for entertainment and insight. And yes, yes, I will bring them to Neverland in due time. So read and enjoy and please review when you're done. Thank you! =)

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"Omigod! _Stephanie_!" A deafening scream came from Joanne's pouty red lips. She leaned over and hugged Stephanie with a strength she didn't think a busty, rail thin model possessed. "So how have you've been? It's been like what—two years since I've seen you." She gave Stephanie the once over. "Wow, you look skinnier. Did you lose weight? Oh and your _face_; it's almost acne free!"

"Er, thanks Joanne. You look pretty good yourself. Is that another new hair style?" Stephanie thought that if she stroked Joanne's vanity then maybe the girl with "whipped cream for brains" will forget the whole reason why she came.

"What, this mossy thing?" Joanne stroked a strand lovingly. "I just got it straightened and dyed this week. I got tired of being a platinum blonde and decided a more natural look was the way to go." She narrowed her eyes and examined Stephanie's dark hair. "Weren't you a redhead last semester?"

"Um . . . no, I've never dyed my hair." When no response came, Stephanie continued. "But if I were, I was thinking about having purple streaks."

Joanne made a scrunched face. "Purple? Oh God, that's _so_ passe. I think you should run blonde and brown highlights through your hair. And you should start outlining your eyes, your round head makes them look too small." She regally stepped into the livingroom and made her way to the plush sofa. She fluffed her hair and sat demurely as though waiting for a request to be asked of her.

Stephanie groaned silently in her mind. Looks like it would be up to her find out why the Queen of Sheba was here. "So Joanne, um, any special reason why you decided to pay me an unexpected visit?"

The queen looked up and humbled herself enough to smile guiltily. "Oh, I know I should've called you before I came. But I didn't want to go through all the trouble if nobody was home. And besides I—" A rattling crash from upstairs stopped Joanne short. "What . . . "

Ian cursed loudly as staggered down the stairs. The top portion of his shirt was wet, leaving a slash of water across his chest. Absently mumbling, he ran a hand through his rumpled hair and sulked into the living room. He froze when his eyes came into contact with Joanne's irritated face.

"Joanne." Ian acknowledged her coldly.

"Ian." Joanne replied in the same unattached manner. She crossed her legs and tilted her chin up as if she were balancing a teacup on her nose. "Didn't expect to see you here?" She glanced from Ian to Stephanie and raised a questioning brow. "Are you two . . ."

"No!" Stephanie blurted. Then regretted how fast she had responded. Hopefully, Joanne wouldn't make any assumptions and start some stupid rumor across the nation.

She seemed to have ignored Stephanie's abrupt answer, and instead focused her attention back to Ian. She gave him a very critical once over. "You've changed since the last time I saw you."

Ian crossed his arms and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really. I'm assuming it's for the better."

Joanne nodded once, no more than a slight dip of her chin. "I would say so. You've filled out some. You're not the skinny boy I remember from freshmen year with the braces." Her gaze went to his broad shoulders. "Been working out?"

"A little." He glanced Joanne over and leaned against the wall nearest the couch, his expression bored and uncaring. "You still look the same with the exception of the hair. I'm guessing your personality hasn't changed much either."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Joanne narrowed her eyes at him.

"Nothing. Just that you'd think after a couple of years a person might be a bit less . . ." He smiled humorlessly at his next word. "Vain."

Joanne's eyes flew wide and her whole body tensed. She looked as if she wanted to strangle Ian and scratch that cocky smile off his face. "Are you saying that I'm stuck-up?" Her voice held warning.

Ian completely ignored it and plunged on. "That's _exactly_ what I'm saying." He paced around the sofa until her was behind Stephanie, who looked utterly confused, and met Joanne's furious gaze.

Stephanie looked from one person to the other and felt her brows deepen. She had no idea why Ian disliked Joanne so much. Sure, she was annoying, snobby, and overall _vain_. But with Ian . . . it was almost as if he resented her for something.

Joanne's all-too-clam voice pulled Stephanie from her thoughts. "I can see that some of us haven't grown-up over the last three years. Don't tell me you still hold a grudge to—"

"Hold a grudge?!" Ian exclaimed in disbelief. "Like hell I do. I wouldn't be caught dead near you. You're not even worth holding a grudge for!"

Joanne stood and face him squarely. Both of them seemed to have forgotten that Stephanie was in the room. She stared up at both Joanne and Ian leaning over her to glare at each other. The tension in the room rose with each forced breath between them.

"You are so immature Ian. Can't even ta—"

"Tell me, Joanne," Ian interrupted rudely, a malicious grin lining his lips. "How many SBC members did you sleep with to get _your _position? I doubt VP Michael Donovan would let you run the show unless he was persuaded with something more than a . . . kiss."

Stephanie looked at Ian in shock. She couldn't believe he had actually insulted Joanne Boer to her face. Maybe a few crude jokes here and there, but a direct hit? Since when was Ian this rude?

Joanne's nostrils flared and her jaw dropped the length to her heaving bust. "_What_?! You little shithead! You are—Oh you are the . . . !" She screamed in frustration.

Ian smiled in triumph, dark laughter in his blue eyes. He spared a glance at Stephanie, who looked so dumbfounded that if she frowned any harder her forehead would form a permanent V. He raised an eyebrow when she shot him a unfriendly look.

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Why are you so mean to her?" Stephanie whispered. Joanne was too busy ranting and raving around the room to notice their small conversation on the side.

It was Ian's turn to frown. "What do you mean 'why'? 'Cause she's Joanne _Ho_er." When Stephanie's expression still didn't change, he added unconvincingly. "She's a manipulative bitch?"

"Ian!"

"What?"

Stephanie looked up to the ceiling and closed her eyes for a moment before glaring back at him. "Seriously, I'm not a big fan of Joanne anymore that you are, but at least I don't outright insult her." She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you hate her so much?"

"Because I went out with him." Joanne's gruff voice made both their heads turn to the owner. Her manicured fingers rested on her ample hips and her full lips were pursed into a thin line.

"You two _dated_?" Stephanie couldn't hold back the incredulity in her voice. She just couldn't believe it.

"Freshmen year," confirmed Ian. His looked as grim as Joanne. "Back then Joanne was a brunette; I use to have a kind of . . . soft spot for brunettes."

Joanne snorted. "Soft spot? More like fetish to me."

Ian glared at her, arms crossed over his chest. "Fetish, soft spot—whatever. I liked her, and we went out."

When no one spoke for the longest time, Stephanie delicately asked, "Then what happened?"

Ian looked at Stephanie like she'd sprouted horns on her head. "You want details? What do you think happened? We went out, gone to a Motel 6, had sex, then broke it off."

Joanne shook her head, a small flush creeping up her foundation caked face. "I don't ever remember you being so blunt. You were so shy, I had to practically drag you to the motel."

"Placing a virgin in your hands tends to do that to people," retorted Ian.

Joanne's face turned bright pink. "What?! I—"

"Was a sexual sadist," Ian finished. "I'll admit it was erotic with the handcuffs, cat-o'-nine-tails, and all that, but when you started that whole dominant and submissive thing," Ian shivered, "you scared the shit out of me."

"That's not how I remember it," Joanne replied tersely. "As I recall, you enjoyed it."

"Until you flagged my back!" Stephanie bowed her head and tried to pretend she was invisible. The last thing she wanted to hear was Ian's and Joanne's sex life. "Now a days, I actually don't mind the whole whipping thing. But when you're fourteen and know absolutely nothing about sex except from porno mags, it's gets kinda scary when a 'sweet' girl your own age rides and whips you until you're beyond spent."

Joanne made a small superior sound through her nose and dismissed Ian's comment as if he hadn't even spoken. She glanced at Stephanie, who found the hardwood floor to be of immense interest, and looked back at Ian, who stood rigid and glaring at her. Then, realization dawned. She smiled saucily at both of them. "I can see that you still have your fetish for brunettes."

Stephanie's head shot up. She opened her mouth to protest, but only a squeak-like stutter came out. Ian smiled mischievously and possessively placed his arm around Stephanie's shoulders.

"What's the matter Joanne? Jealous?" He leaned in close and began to nibble the slender column of Stephanie's neck, all the while keeping his baby-blues locked on Joanne.

Stephanie immediately jumped up and pushed Ian aside, backing away from both Joanne and Ian until her back came into firm contact with the bookshelf. She glared at both classmates as she spat out her next words. "You two are beyond crazy!" She narrowed her deadly stare on Ian. "And _you_! What the hell's gotten into you?! First you tell her you don't have a grudge and then you deliberately try to make her jealous? For crying out loud, you don't even date girls Ian!"

One of Joanne's painted brown eyebrows rose in question.

Ian just shook his head and leaned back on the sofa exasperated. "Jesus Christ Steph, I was just shitting with her." He turned his attention to her waiting majesty. "By the way Joanne, I'm gay. I haven't lost my 'fetish' for brunettes, but Steph's a bit too feminine for my taste." He smiled sweetly as he said it.

Joanne stumbled backward on her flip-flops and nearly toppled over the ottoman behind her. "You're . . . gay?" Her mouth was suddenly too dry.

Ian's smile grew wider, and if possible, more menacing. "Yes, I'm gay, queer, fruity, homosexual; a fag all the way." He drew his brows together in mock concern. "You all right Joanne? You look a bit pale."

"I . . . I need to—" Joanne's anorexic body thumped the floor.

Stephanie's eyes widened in shock. "Oh my God, she fainted." She knelt down and tried to find a pulse.

Ian simply sat, relaxed, with his feet propped up on the glass coffee table. He examined his nails while Stephanie struggled to revive Joanne by fanning her face and patting it none too gently.

Ian grinned at her futile attempts.

"Just bring her wrist up to her nose. All that body spray she wears is enough to bring a whole combat squad back to life."


	7. streaks of mustard

A/N: All right, after nearly a one year sabbatical, I am BACK! College life has spoiled me. I cannot, repeat, cannot _even_ begin to tell you how sorry I am, especially to those who have been diligently waiting an update (you've all probably given up and I don't blame you) and those who were once my faithful reviewers. I deserve to be flogged, whipped, and spend a month in Joanne's company. Okay that didn't sound quite right, but anyway I'm here to stay. From now on, I am going to sit my lazy ass in from of the computer and type up new chapters on a weekly basis until this story is finished. I am a reformed author. Reviews are still the fuel for this story and now more than ever appreciated. But since I've been such a terrible updater I'll keep posting new chapters anyway just to punish myself. Again, I know I've been saying this a lot, but I'm SO SORRY!

* * *

"Ian!" Stephanie struggled with the weight of Joanne's body. "Aren't you going to help me lift her onto the sofa?"

"What, and contaminate myself?" Ian rested his head against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes, the perfect picture of a pharaoh bored with his court. "Besides, it's not like _Ho_er there is in any pain," Ian continued condescendingly. "And if you're so concerned, just prop some throw pillows under her ungrateful head."

"Lazy ass," muttered Stephanie. Without so much as a second thought, she tried to transport the unconscious SBC President onto the sofa. Then, realizing she lacked the man-power to even heave Joanne's legs, Stephanie gave up with a groan of frustration and reluctantly gathered every throw pillow in the room, mumbling incoherently as she did so.

Ian smiled all too innocently when, after finishing her task, Stephanie plopped her grumbling self as far away from him as possible on the sofa. With unmasked amusement in his eyes, he shifted an inch closer. Stephanie backed away until she was half-sitting, half-sliding on the sofa arm. Laughter glittered Ian's voice as he said, "Geez, don't tell me you're going to be sore at me all day." Ian shifted closer again; Stephanie merely turned her head and crossed her arms, ignoring him. "C'mon Steph. Don't be like that." Ian frowned in mild concern, all traces of a smile gone from his face. And with blue eyes wide as a worried child, he said in the most pathetic, pleading tone, "Stephanie?"

Stephanie kept her head turned and her eyes averted; however, she knew she couldn't resist that sad, forlorn sound in his voice when he'd said her name, her _full _name. What girl can?_ Well, maybe several_, Stephanie conceded. She was a bleeding-heart and she knew it. The way Ian said her name as though she was his personal Jesus made Stephanie turn around with the intention of giving him a light reprimand and then forgiving him.

But the instant she turned, Ian pounced on her with the full force of a train wreck and trapped her between him and the sofa arm. He was smiling like the Cheshire cat as Stephanie screamed and struggled to break free.

"Get off me, Ian!" Stephanie shouted as she half-heartedly pushed at his shoulder, knowing all the while that her efforts were useless. "Let me up now or I swear I'll—"

"You'll what?" Ian grinned, adjusting his arms so that he covered Stephanie in a low push-up position. "Keep doing those sexy squirming motions I like so much?" As if to convey his point, Ian lowered himself until he was nearly chest-to-chest with Stephanie and wiggled until he was practically straddling her with his longer legs.

Stephanie gasped in horror, placing both her hands on Ian's chest in the desperate hope of preventing him from leaning down any closer. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

Ian only raised a questioning eyebrow in reply, as though he didn't understand the cause for his friend's outburst. But his side-smile and leering gaze as he looked Stephanie over from hips to breast suggested he knew otherwise.

"What am I doing, Steph?" Ian purred, deliberately dropping his voice a few octaves. "Am I turning you on and you're just too afraid to admit it?" Before Stephanie could reply with a snappy comeback, Ian bent his head down to nibble at her earlobe, chuckling mischievously when he felt her body go rigid with surprised shock. "Or could it be that your mom stuffed you with so much 'my body is a temple' shit that you'll be a spinster long before you lose your virginity?"

Utterly dumbfounded and at a lack for words, the only sound that came out of Stephanie's mouth was an incredulous, "Huh?"

Ian sighed in exasperation and raised himself slightly on his propped arms. Though not enough to lend Stephanie any chance of escape. "I can't believe you, Steph. You totally ruined the soap opera moment."

Silence for a moment. Then, as though on cue, . . . "Fuck you Ian," Stephanie said vehemently though a small trickle of laughter began to seep into her eyes. "I can't believe you tricked me."

"Well, can I help it if gullible is written all over you," Ian said languidly as he lowered himself again. Stephanie propped her hands on his chest to stop him. "C'mon Steph, haven't you ever heard of casual sex between friends?" He smiled excitedly like a kid who had suddenly come up with a brilliant idea. "Let's go for a quickie before _Ho_er wakes up."

Stephanie half-laughed and shook her head. "Not in this lifetime. Maybe when I'm thirty-five and still a virgin _then_ I'll think about it."

"Thirty-five! Babe, you might as well join the convent and marry the big JC. Though. . ." Ian ran his fingers slowly down Stephanie's side, ". . . I'd hate to see all this go to waste." Stephanie was about to push his sneaky hand away when suddenly, Ian's lazy strokes turned into a full-scale tickle attack, throwing Stephanie into a fit of unrestrained laughter and giggling.

"Ian. . .Stop! I—" Stephanie tried to wrestle herself free only to have Ian blow several loud and wet raspberries over her exposed stomach. She continued to laugh and squeal helplessly, pleading Ian to stop until she heard a faint groan from the floor. Ian glanced at the moving lump on the floor that was Joanne and cringed.

"Ugh, even unconscious she's a pain in the ass. I swear she makes Freddy Kugar look like the hottest looking thing on the planet." He shook his head. "You know what, you deal with Hoer. I can't even stand to be in the same room as her." With that, he leapt off the sofa and darted into the kitchen like all the demons of hell were chasing after him

Stephanie sighed just as another groan came from Joanne. She reluctantly slid down the sofa and helped prop Joanne against the bottom cushions. "You all right, Joanne?" she asked when Joanne finally opened her eyes.

"Gay?" Joanne croaked, a hand thrown dramatically over her head. "He's. . ._gay_?" She looked at Stephanie as though to confirm she wasn't hallucinating. At Stephanie's nod, she moaned. "Oh why me? I've broken his heart and now I'm being punished with another guy turning fag. What have I _ever_ done to deserve this?"

"Fucking drama queen." Ian's voice from the kitchen doorway caught both their attention. "Always thinking it's all about you. Just for the record, I didn't turn gay because we broke up. I just so happen to like having my ass fucked by a guy." He grinned at Joanne's stunned silence. "You should try it sometime. Kinda nice, really. All warm and tight. You need a lot of lube though or your partner might rip your rectum, but other than that. . ." His eyes sparkled when Joanne grimaced and swallowed a whimper of disgust. "Gee, you look kinda thirsty, Joanne. Want something to drink?"

_Uh oh_, Stephanie thought. She didn't like that weird spark in Ian's eye.

"Yes. Please. Something with alcohol if you have it." Joanne closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat cushions. "I'm having a really bad headache."

"I got just the thing." Ian smiled, then pulled out a bottle Smirnoff Ice from behind his back. "It uh hasn't been refrigerated yet, so it's still a little warm. Hope ya don't mind."

"Just give it me."

Stephanie narrowed her eyes suspiciously as Ian passed the warm Smirnoff Ice to Joanne's demanding hand. She was about to ask just where did he get that bottle until Ian tossed her a gleaming, censored look, which answered all her suspicions. She gulped, eyes wide in disbelief as Joanne twisted off the cap and downed the wine cooler that had journey down Ian's pants. Well, what Joanne doesn't know can't hurt her.

"So Joanne, um just out of curiosity why are you here?" Stephanie asked tentatively once Joanne got her bearings.

Joanne took another drag from the bottle and smiled. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. To let you guys know that I volunteered you two for the Powell Spirit Rally tomorrow."

"You what!" Stephanie and Ian shouted in unison, then stared at each other, absolute horror on their faces.

"Mm hmm," Joanne said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to their outburst. "We couldn't find anyone to fill in for Eugene on the Dunk-A-Geek—so I said Stephanie could do it. Hope you don't mind? And Kyle said he was having another herpes outbreak so he couldn't be Dickie, the bulldog mascot—That's yours Ian."

"Has Dickie even ever been washed?" Ian demanded.

Joanne pursed her lips and puckered her tweezed brows. "No, of course not. SBC said it costs too much to have Dickie dry-cleaned. Besides why should we? Only Kyle and Lenny ever wear the costume."

"Then why can't you get Lenny to do it!"

"Because Lenny just found out the little mushroom thingies that have been growing on his penis for the past two weeks were genital warts."

"Christ!" Ian smacked a hand over his face. He shook his head adamantly. "No. _Hell_ fucking no. I am _not_ going anywhere near that nasty, germ-invested, disease-ridden mutant dog. If I'm going to get an STI it had better be from a night of outstanding sex and not from Dickie The Mutt."

"Same here," Stephanie piped in. "I don't wanna sit on a cold platform over pond water while people try to drown me. I can't even swim!"

"Well, unless the both of you suddenly disappear off the face of the earth, you'd better show up. You're on the volunteer list and if you skip, the Dean will

Stephanie sighed, defeated while Ian looked like he wanted to crush Joanne's neck.

Just then, clunky footsteps thumped awkwardly down the stairs. Everyone turned to the figure dressed in a ketchup-and-mustard stained white t-shirt and a pair of wrinkled jeans cluttered with grass stains. His shoulders filled the shirt to perfection, the thin cotton spanning his wet chest and outlining his nipples. His feet were stuffed into heavy work boots and his striking red hair flopped in an attractive wet mass on top his head.

"Oh my," Joanne whispered. Her eyes glazed over, her mouth gaped open, and a bead of drool was forming at the corner of her painted lips.

Stephanie edged closer to Ian and spoke quietly so Joanne wouldn't hear. "You made him take a shower and then dressed him your dirty laundry?"

Ian shrugged, his expression about as glazed over as Joanne's. "I was trying to make him look like a disgusting, unattractive slob."

"Well, you failed miserably!" Stephanie whisper-shouted. "He looks more like construction worker from a male strip mall."

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he?" Ian mused distractedly, smiling.


End file.
